In the Valley of Death
by PsandQs
Summary: Written between seasons 9 and 10, featuring the team as we saw them in episode 9.8. Remember Alec? Harry puts a stop to an MI6 black op, and sometime later he disappears. Are the two events connected? And can the team find him before it is too late? Warning: Contains scenes of torture.
1. Chapter 1

Darkness. And pain.  
Those are the two things he registers first when he comes to. Then comes the suffocating heat, the intolerable humidity. And the flies and mosquitoes. He no longer knows how long he's been here. It could be weeks, but he somehow suspects that it's been closer to months. Plural. As in more than one. The shivering starts almost as soon as he regains consciousness, and yet he is sweating profusely. Somewhere in his fevered mind he knows that he is seriously ill. His violent shivers cause every injury to throb painfully and he almost passes out again. He craves the oblivion of unconsciousness, but still he fights it. Searching his jumbled thoughts, he tries to remember why it is so important to hang on. Apart from a fear that he will never wake up again, that is. Finally he finds it, her face materialising out of the mists clouding his mind.  
"You have to hang on, Harry," she tells him. "We're coming for you."  
Ruth.  
"Yes," he mumbles, "…hang on…"

- 0 -

_**Six months earlier**_

_Plymouth harbour  
Tuesday, 01:54_

The harbour was quiet, asleep. Hulking container ships periodically bumped against the tyres separating them from the dock. Thick ropes creaked under the strain of holding the vessels in place. A light mist began to descend, diffusing the yellow light of the sodium street lamps. The security guard in the tower overlooking Dock F checked his monitors before glancing at his visitor nervously.  
"Still nothing, Sir," he reported.  
The man did not acknowledge the words. Instead he continued to sit quietly, face turned away from the ships, dark eyes fixed on the access road. He looked faintly sinister seated in the shadows, clad in his dark coat and black leather gloves.

Suddenly he straightened up. Moments later the security guard heard it too. A low rumble that grew steadily louder. Craning his neck in the direction of the access road, the guard saw four large trucks trundle into view. The other man spoke for the first time in an hour.  
"Stand by," he said into the radio in his hand.  
The trucks passed beneath them before coming to a stop next to a container ship halfway down the dock. Silence descended once again as the engines were switched off. Nothing moved for a few minutes. Finally the doors of the first truck opened and two men alighted. Almost simultaneously a gangplank was lowered from the ship and three men walked down it. Once they reached the trucks, they held a short conference with the two men on the ground. One of the shipping containers on the back of the truck was opened and the men disappeared inside. After a while they came back out, and one of them waved to someone out of sight on the deck of the ship. The crane on the foredeck came to life and swung over the side. Its chains were fastened to the first container, and as it began to hoist the metal box towards the deck, the mysterious man spoke into his radio again.  
"Go."

Special Forces swarmed all over the four trucks and the ship in a matter of seconds. The guard stood watching, in awe, and when he turned to his mysterious visitor he was no longer there. He turned back to the window in time to see the man striding along the dock towards the trucks.

Harry came to a stop in front of the two men that had got out of the truck.  
"Evening, Andy," he said pleasantly.  
Andy closed his eyes in resignation.  
"How the hell did Five find out?"  
"Well," Harry looked around him, "a large unscheduled movement of weapons is always going to trip some alarm bells." He looked back at the other man.  
"This shipment has not been authorised by the government, so what is an MI6 officer doing in the middle of it?"  
Andy remained quiet, his jaw jutted out stubbornly. Harry studied him, before shrugging philosophically.  
"You want to know what I think? This is a black op, and it stinks to high heaven. There is nothing for the UK to be gained from putting rocket propelled grenades and laser guided missiles into the hands of the Yemeni authorities. We all know they are going to use it on their own people – on civilians who have the courage to stand up against tyranny."  
Harry waited, but the MI6 officer remained quiet. He sighed.  
"Tell your masters they've gone too far this time. I'm putting a stop to it."  
Turning away, he nodded to the Special Forces team leader standing at his shoulder.  
"You can take it from here."

As he got into the car, he got out his mobile. Despite the late hour, he knew Ruth would not be asleep, that she was waiting for his call before turning in. She picked up on the first ring.  
"Hi. It's done. You were right, Ruth. Your information was spot on." His voice was filled with praise and admiration.  
She breathed a sigh of relief.  
"Oh, that's good to hear. You're driving back now?"  
"Yes. I should be home in less than three hours."  
"You're not too tired?" There was concern in her voice, and it warmed him.  
"No. Go to bed. I'll try not to wake you when I come in."  
"I don't mind," she said softly. "I'll see you in a few hours."

During the long drive back to London his mind wandered over the events of the last year. He'd survived the Inquiry after the Albany disaster by the skin of his teeth. Harry knew that it was in no small measure thanks to the efforts of the Home Secretary that he still had a job. But to Towers' eternal credit, he'd never mentioned it or expected anything in return, apart from Harry doing the best job that he could to keep the country safe. The two men shared a deeper understanding since, and worked well together. In fact, Harry was acting with the blessing of the Home Secretary that evening, who had been just as horrified as Harry was by the callousness of Six's actions. Apart from the two of them, only Ruth knew the full extent of the operation, as she had been the one to stumble onto it in the first place. It was decided to keep the rest of his team out of it for their own protection, and because the Home Secretary wanted as few people as possible to know about it. Hence Harry personally taking charge of the operation that evening.

The closer he got to London, the more his thoughts turned to the person awaiting him at home. _Their _home. His and Ruth's. It still filled him with wonder every time he thought about it. After the disastrous few months between his ill-advised proposal to her at Ros' funeral and the eventual horrific conclusion of the Albany affair, he had given up all hope on the two of them finding a way to each other. But after his suspension he had been back on the Grid for only a week when, to his astonishment, Ruth had asked him to go for a drink. This time no national crisis had intervened, and they had shared a quiet drink in a small pub next to the Thames. Their initial conversation had been horribly awkward and stilted, until both had gradually started to relax in each other's company. She'd allowed him to drive her home, and see her to the door, and before she'd disappeared inside she'd reached up and kissed him. A proper kiss, long and passionate. Afterwards, while he'd stood there, trying to get his brain functioning, she'd said, "Life's too short, Harry. I want to stop living in the past."  
She'd looked away from him, before meeting his eyes again.  
"I want to _live_. Will you do it with me?"  
And he'd nodded, and stammered woefully inarticulately, "Yes, erm… _Yes._" And had whistled all the way home.

It had been hard work at first. They'd found it difficult to find an acceptable balance between their work and personal lives, and there were many heated arguments. But, miraculously, neither of them ran or gave up. They were both determined to stick it out, to fight for every bit of happiness they could have together, and they'd gradually found a way to make it work. Three months after that first drink they'd moved in together. And nine months later, they were still together, still happy. Harry had not yet worked up the courage to propose again, but he was thinking about it more often.  
_Maybe soon_, he mused as he turned into their driveway.

- 0 -

_London  
Thursday, 11:30_

Beecher was waiting on the bench when Harry arrived. He sat down and contemplated the Houses of Parliament opposite him. Without preamble he asked, "Was the CIA involved in the plot to provide weapons to the Yemeni government?"  
The CIA officer glanced at his counterpart. "Are you really asking, or do you already know the answer?"  
Harry smiled. "We both know that I know."  
Beecher waited for a pedestrian to amble by before continuing. "We're not very happy with you at the moment. You're endangering our Middle East strategy with your meddling."  
"And you are doing the dirty work of the Saudis for them," Harry retorted. "We all know that they greatly fear that civilian protests in Yemen and Bahrain will spill over to them. They don't want to be the bad guys that will use force against civilians, and you don't want that either, as it would place tremendous pressure on the 'special relationship' between the two governments. So what better than to nip the momentum these civil protests have gained in the bud in Yemen, hmm?"

Another person strolled by.  
"I didn't think you were this naïve, Harry." Beecher looked at him.  
"The West needs a stable oil producing partner in the Middle East. You've seen what the unrest in Libya has done to oil prices. You know it will have consequences for both our and your economies if it climbs any higher."  
"And that justifies it?" Harry kept his voice low but his anger shone through. "We allow unarmed civilians to be slaughtered so we can keep the lights on?"  
He shook his head. "Keeping an undemocratic government in place artificially is not a long term solution. For God's sake, look how your attempts to use Saddam Hussein against the Iranians turned out."  
Harry got up and looked around before continuing. "Next time, don't try to use the UK to do your dirty work. And don't expect me to look the other way either. I will continue to stop this by all means necessary."  
Beecher watched him walk away with a frown.

- 0 -

_London, Office of the Foreign Secretary  
Friday, 10:45_

Foreign Secretary John Hastings watched as the Yemen Ambassador to the UK, Sameer Al-Busaili, paced to and fro in front of his desk.  
"We were promised those weapons. _You_ promised us!"  
Hastings spread his hands. "Unfortunately the deal became known. We cannot continue with it without risking condemnation from the international community."  
Al-Busaili stopped and glared at him. "It seems to me, Foreign Secretary, that you have very little influence over your country's foreign policy. Perhaps you should ask yourself who is really in control of it."  
With that he turned on his heel and stormed out.

A door opened behind Hastings and a man stepped through it. Hastings rounded on him.  
"What the hell happened?"  
The man picked up a letter opener from the desk and idly twirled it between his fingers.  
"Harry Pearce found out."  
The Foreign Secretary snatched the letter opener back before saying, "Harry bloody Pearce. I'm sick and tired of him interfering with our strategies whenever they don't meet the approval of his personal moral code. I want him out of the equation."  
The other man raised an eyebrow in surprise.  
"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"  
"Interpret it how you will, but I want that meddlesome spook off the playing field," Hastings grumbled.  
"It won't be easy. He has the backing of the Home Secretary," the man responded after pondering for a few moments.  
The politician leaned back in his chair. "Leave Towers to me. You just take care of Pearce."  
After another moment of hesitation the man nodded. "It will take some time, but we have a man who's been out of favour for a while. I think he'll enjoy taking care of this."  
With that, he left the office quietly.

- 0 -

_**Two months later**_

_London, the Grid  
10:20_

Harry was catching up on some paperwork when his phone rang. It was Beecher.  
"I need to talk to you, away from prying ears. Outside the city somewhere. There's a private airfield out on the A12. Do you know it?"  
Frowning at the strange request, Harry answered affirmatively.  
"Good. Get here as soon as you can," Beecher said before disconnecting abruptly.

After alerting his security officer to get the car ready, Harry collected his coat and moved out of his office. He caught Ruth's eye and nodded towards the corridor, away from curious eyes.  
When she joined him, he took her hand and leaned in to kiss her cheek.  
"Something's come up. I'll be away for a couple of hours."  
Ruth nodded, and smiled at him. It was nothing out of the ordinary for him not to disclose where he was going or whom he was meeting with.  
On an impulse, Harry pulled Ruth into his arms and kissed her soundly.  
As he stepped back again, she looked at him quizzically.  
"What brought that on?"  
He shrugged and smiled bashfully. "I couldn't resist."  
Squeezing her hand, he continued, "I have to go."  
She nodded and smoothed her hand down his tie.  
"Go save the world, Sir Harry," she smiled, only half teasing, and watched him walk away from her.

- 0 -

_35 minutes later_

They had reached the outskirts of the city. Charlie, Harry's security officer, was a good driver and they had made good time. It happened as they pulled away from a traffic light at a quiet intersection. A large SUV skipped the red light and smashed into the side of their car at great speed. The impact caused Harry's head to whiplash and the safety belt bit painfully into his chest. The airbag deployed with a loud pop, knocking the wind out of him. The two vehicles skidded sideways accompanied by the sound of screeching metal, until the car wrapped itself around the traffic light on the opposite corner, halting the momentum and trapping his foot under the front seat. Before Harry had time to gather his wits, he heard a shot go off and felt the bullet whip past his cheek before hitting Charlie behind the ear. He recoiled as his security officer's brains were splattered over the roof of the car.  
"Oh Christ! Charlie-"

It was all happening too fast. His door was wrenched open and expert hands sliced away the seat belt and airbag before attempting to yank him out of the wreck. Harry screamed in agony as his knee twisted violently before his foot ripped free and he was unceremoniously dumped on the pavement. He had time to look up and register the Middle Eastern appearance of the man above him before the butt of a gun was smashed into his temple, and everything went black.

_tbc_


	2. Chapter 2

_London, the Grid  
12:43_

Alec, Beth, Dimitri and Ruth were gathered in the meeting room to discuss ways of penetrating a newly identified terror cell when Tariq burst in. His eyes looked almost black against the pallor of his skin, and he stood there for long seconds, his gaze darting from person to person before coming to rest on Ruth. When he didn't speak, Alec asked, "What?"  
Tariq swallowed, and finally managed to croak out the dreaded words.  
"Harry's been taken."

They stared at him in incomprehension. Beth's eyes automatically turned to the head of the table, to Harry's empty chair, before going to Ruth. The analyst gripped the edge of the table, trying to make sense of Tariq's words. Part of her refused to accept it. She had spoken to him just a little while ago, it couldn't be true. Another part, the realist in her, knew instinctively that it was. That her worst fears had been realised. Her head spun, and for a moment she thought she would pass out or throw up. She could see his face in front of her, his eyes smiling into hers with infinite love. _Oh God, Harry_… The vision galvanised her. He needed her, needed them all to stay calm and act quickly. They could still save him.

"How?" Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper, and it brought the others around the table out of their initial shock.  
Alec took charge, knowing that he was about to face the biggest test of his leadership since taking over as Section Chief. He looked at Ruth worriedly.  
"Ruth," he said gently, "maybe you should-"  
"Don't," she interrupted roughly, desperation on her face, "don't you dare ask me to leave the room or to step back from this."  
She looked around the table. "I _need_ to be a part of it." She turned back to Alec. "Please. For Harry." Her voice caught on his name, but she refused to break down.  
Alec studied her with respect and with resignation. "All right."  
He turned to the techie who was still frozen in the doorway, looking lost.  
"What do we know?" He gestured for Tariq to sit down.

Once settled at the table, Tariq took a deep breath and picked up the remote.  
"Just before eleven, this happened."  
CCTV footage showed Harry's car being broadsided by the SUV, and then they saw him dragged out of the car, knocked unconscious and loaded into the back of an ambulance.  
Dimitri frowned. "Why has it taken us two hours to find out? Surely the first policeman on the scene should have notified us that one of our cars were in an accident."  
Tariq avoided looking at Ruth when he answered. "This was carefully planned. There were fake ambulance and police vehicles waiting close by. As soon as they staged the accident, these appeared on the scene. As a result, none of the bystanders called the real police. The fake police stayed for over an hour, then just casually packed up and left. A Bobby on the beat happened to pass by and noticed that there was a dead man in the car. When he checked the car registration it flagged up and he informed us."

Everyone was thinking the same thing: that the careful planning behind the kidnap and the scope of the operation did not bode well, as it showed that this probably went deeper than some local dissident group striking it lucky. But no-one dared vocalise that thought.  
"Was Charlie killed in the accident?" Alec asked.  
Tariq shook his head. "He was shot."  
Alec rubbed a hand across his face before looking at the shell shocked officers around the table.  
"Okay. I'm going to inform the DG and the Home Secretary. We'll need to warn all officers in the field that Harry has knowledge of, change all codes etc. Tariq, try to trace where that ambulance went, and see if you can find anything that may identify the kidnappers."  
He turned to Dimitri and Beth. "You get out to the site of the accident, talk to the eye witnesses and search the area. Ruth," he said more quietly, "inform the police and all points of exit from the country and distribute Harry's photo to them. If we can prevent them from moving him out of the country we'll have a better chance of finding him." He waited until she nodded before dismissing them, and they dispersed to their allotted tasks.

- 0 -

_Two hours later_

A sombre mood enveloped the people gathered in the meeting room. The Home Secretary and the DG had joined the officers from Section D, and was waiting for Alec to provide them with the latest update. He stood up and moved to the screen before nodding to Tariq. A map of the London Greater Area appeared. He pointed towards the intersection.  
"At 10:55 this morning an SUV crashed into Harry's vehicle at this intersection. His security officer was shot dead, and Harry himself was knocked unconscious and removed by a fake ambulance. The ambulance took him to a private airfield nearby," again he indicated it on the map, "where he was loaded into a waiting helicopter."  
He turned to the others. "Air traffic control tracked the helicopter's flight to a ship in the English channel, sailing under a Panama flag. During the next hour, six smaller ships anchored next to this ship, and took on board cargo. They dispersed in different directions."  
There was a hopeless expression on his face. "Harry could have been loaded onto any one of those ships." He fell quiet and stared at the table before looking up again and meeting the Home Secretary's eyes.  
"We've lost him."

- 0 -

_Harry_

He gradually became aware of sensations. His neck felt like it was being squeezed in a vice, and one side of his head throbbed agonisingly. But it was nothing compared to his knee. It felt like it was on fire, and he couldn't move it at all without experiencing excruciating pain. It was dark - no, he was in some sort of crate, and there were faint traces of light to be seen between the slats. The world was swaying, and at first he thought it was because of his head, but after a while he realised that it was real. He was moving. Perhaps a train or… a ship. Yes. He was on water.

Slowly, painstakingly, he sat up, but even that slight movement made his head swim and his stomach heave. He lurched onto his good knee and scrambled for the far corner of the crate, where he was violently sick. Every retch made pain shoot through his neck and head, which led to more retching. When it was finally over, he crawled as far away as he could get before collapsing weakly.

He lay there for a long time, too exhausted to move. Sweat began to form on his upper lip and he realised he was still wearing his coat. With as little movement as possible he took it off and folded it under his neck and head. His suit jacket was used to cushion his knee. It eased the pain somewhat, and he tried to concentrate on his surroundings. He could smell the ocean and the ship's movements were pronounced, which meant that they were probably on the open sea. The chances of him still being in UK territory appeared slim. The realisation made his heart sink. He knew from experience that it was much more difficult to get an officer back once he'd been taken out of the country. The first tendril of fear began to curl around his heart.

- 0 -

_The Grid_

Dimitri took up the briefing.  
"The SUV that hit them was stolen, so no leads there. We found Harry's mobile and watch in a garbage bin close by. They emptied his pockets and dumped everything. The helicopter was leased two days ago, with a false identity. Another dead end." He looked crestfallen.  
"So we have no idea who took Harry?" Towers asked, looking at Alec.  
The Section Chief shifted uncomfortably before replying. "We have one, but it doesn't make much sense." He nodded at Tariq.  
"I managed to isolate a clear image of one of the kidnappers from the CCTV footage," the young man stated. "Face recognition identified him as this man."  
A picture displayed on the screen.  
"Ali Al-Redhi. He's from Yemeni Intelligence."  
Towers' head jerked up.  
"Are you saying Yemeni Intelligence kidnapped Harry?"  
Ruth gave him a knowing look.  
"It looks like it."  
"Dear God." The Home Secretary buried his face in his hands. When he lifted his head again, he seemed to have aged ten years.  
"I'll speak to the Foreign Secretary and get onto the Yemenis through diplomatic channels. I will give you all possible diplomatic support to get Harry back."  
The DG nodded. "And I will speak to Six, get someone from their Middle East Directorate to assist you."

As they left the room, the Home Secretary grasped Ruth's elbow lightly and held her back.  
"I'm so very sorry, Ruth. I give you my word that I will not rest until we've got him back. And if you need anything…"  
Ruth swallowed and turned her head away. "Thank you." She gently pulled her arm out of his grasp.  
"Excuse me, I have work to do."  
Towers watched her sadly as she walked away, head bowed.

Two hours later Ruth let her head sink into her hands before rubbing her temples. Her brain felt like it might explode at any moment. She was exhausted, not only by trying to figure out where Harry could be, but also by the tremendous effort she was making to keep herself together emotionally. They were running into brick walls at every turn. Whoever had orchestrated Harry's kidnapping had covered their tracks extremely well. It was obvious to her that they needed more hands. She cornered Alec.  
"We're not getting anywhere. We need more help."  
"I know," he sighed. "Ken Willis from Six is on his way."  
Ruth shook her head. "That's not enough. We need another computer expert. Tariq can't cope with everything on his own."  
She looked at him pleadingly. "Let me ask Malcolm Wynn-Jones to come back temporarily."  
Alec knew Malcolm by reputation, and after the Albany events he was also aware that Harry had put great trust in the man. He nodded. "That's a good idea. I'll send someone round to fetch him."  
But Ruth shook her head. "I'd like to go. I should be the one to tell him." She hesitated. "…About Harry."  
Alec studied her pale, drawn face, seeing clearly how much effort she was putting into keeping control of her emotions. He realised that it would probably do her good to get away from the Grid for a bit.  
"Okay," he responded, "take a car and driver and go get him."

It was a forty minute drive to Malcolm's house, and Ruth leaned her head back against the head-rest and closed her eyes. She was grateful to be off the Grid, away from the pitying, sympathetic looks everyone was giving her. Although she knew they meant well, and that they were worried about her, she couldn't cope with their sympathy right then. It was hard enough to keep her emotions in check as it was. Staring at the darkness outside the window, she wondered where in the world Harry was, and whether he was okay. Whether they'd hurt him – was maybe torturing him at that specific moment in time.

Her heart clenched at the thought and she tried to think about something else. She thought back to the last time she had seen Malcolm. It had been three months ago, at his mother's funeral, and she wondered how he had coped with being on his own since then. She remembered how Harry had called her into his office and informed her of their friend's mother's death. When Ruth had lamented the fact that they would not be able to attend the funeral because they were not supposed to have contact with former members, Harry had stated fervently, "Bugger the rules! We're going. Malcolm deserves that much." And she had loved him more than ever for that. So they had gone, and had stayed with Malcolm overnight, talking about old times.  
And now here she was on his doorstep again. _Why was it_, she thought bitterly as the car came to a halt, _that we only manage to see each other at the worst of times?_

She took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. When he opened the door and she looked into his familiar, comforting face, her self-control finally began to crack. The welcoming smile on his face disappeared quickly when the tears began to flow across her cheeks. Malcolm took her arm and pulled her into the house.  
"What is it? What's happened?" His voice was laced with alarm.  
It took a few seconds before she managed to force the words through her clenched jaw.  
"We need your help, Malcolm. Harry's been taken."  
And then the tears came in full force, and her old friend put his arms around her awkwardly and held her.

- 0 -

_Harry_

When Harry once again became aware of his surroundings, the ship's movements were less pronounced. He realised that he must have dozed off, or more likely had passed out again. Squinting in the darkness, he could make out faint light between the slats of the crate. So it was either dawn or dusk. He became aware of a coolness in the air, and decided that probably meant that it was dawn. What worried him was that it also meant that he had been out since the previous afternoon, which indicated that he was severely concussed, and that he was lucky to have woken up again at all. He gingerly touched his temple and could feel a large bump and congealed blood down the side of his face. Steeling himself, he carefully tried moving his knee. He almost cried out at the pain it caused and gave up. As he lay there, breathing hard, a feeling of desperation settled over him. There was no way he would be able to attempt an escape with the state his knee was in. He was helpless, and his fate now rested solely in the hands of others. It was not a feeling he was accustomed to, and it filled him with fear.

In an effort to squash the growing panic, he twisted around and tried to see something through a tiny gap between the slats. It was too small, and he cast around for ideas on how to make it bigger. There was nothing else in the crate; all he had with him was the clothes on his back. _His clothes_…  
He still had his belt. He removed it and used the buckle to force the opening wider, ignoring the pain stabbing through his head and neck with every movement. When he judged that he'd gouged it wide enough, he pressed an eye to it.

To his surprise they were entering a large harbour. He tried to spot something that would give him an indication of where he was. They passed by a line of container ships, before turning into a smaller harbour filled with row upon row of expensive yachts. Harry frowned; nothing looked familiar to him. Just as he was about to give up, he spotted a billboard on the quay. It read:

_Welcome to the White City_

He sat back in shock, trying to make sense of it. He was in Tangiers.  
Why would they bring him to Morocco?

Suddenly the ship stopped moving altogether. He could hear movement on the deck around him, but no-one came into his line of sight. The conversations he could hear were mostly in what sounded like Arabic to him, but he wasn't entirely sure. Then, out of the blue, he heard a voice speaking in English. It was a familiar voice; he would recognise that upper class diction anywhere. And it could mean only one thing. His life was in perilous danger. What he overheard next strengthened this realisation.  
"When you deliver him to our friends, make sure they understand the stipulations of our agreement. If I find out they have extracted any intelligence from him, the deal is off. They will get nothing."  
There was a pause before the voice continued. "I want him broken, emotionally and physically, but he must be kept alive until it is time for the final act. He _must_be killed on air for maximum impact."

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

_Harry_

Harry tried to make sense of what he'd heard. So they didn't want intelligence from him. It was an immense relief. Every intelligence officer's biggest fear was that he would be broken under interrogation and would betray and put in danger the lives of fellow officers. However, that begged the question what the true aim behind his abduction was. They intended to kill him eventually, apparently. But why not do it now and get it over with before his team had an opportunity to find him? Surely they knew that his officers would be moving heaven and earth to find him. All effort would be made-  
He froze. That was it. His disappearance and death was a diversion.

His train of thought was broken when the conversation outside continued. This time the voice that spoke had a distinct American accent.  
"Aren't you worried that his team will find out what's going on before we can get everything into place?"  
The English man responded with a note of contempt in his voice.  
"They'll be running around like headless chickens without him. And their best analyst will be too consumed with grief and worry over her lover to do her job properly. She was always the biggest danger, but by feeding them snippets of information every now and then about their leader's whereabouts and the fact that he's still alive, she'll keep focussing on finding him. It'll take her out of the equation."  
"Makes sense."  
"Yes, it does. First thing you must do is strip him of his clothes. We'll leave that and the crate somewhere in Yemen for them to find. They'll think he's being held there and focus their search in the wrong place."

The men moved away and Harry could no longer hear what they were saying. He leaned back against the crate and thought about the conversation. His first reaction was a certain knowledge that they had already made a big mistake by underestimating Ruth. Harry was confident that she was stronger than they gave her credit for, and that she would be able to focus on more than just finding him. Whether that would be enough to save his life, he was less convinced of. But if this was the end of the road for him, he took some comfort from the belief that Ruth and the rest of the team would prevent whatever else these people were planning.

He tried to think of ways that he could help them and an idea came to him. Taking up his belt again, he used the buckle to prise loose a sharp splinter. Next he used it to make a tear in the lining of his jacket. He steeled himself and plunged the splinter into his finger before pressing it until a drop of blood appeared. Using the splinter as a crude pen, he began to laboriously write a message in blood under the lining.

- 0 -

_London_

Five men were gathered in the Home Secretary's Office. The Yemeni Ambassador looked at the serious, angry faces surrounding him uncomfortably.  
"Gentlemen. My government wishes to apologise for what happened, and is anxious to provide all cooperation to the UK to find and bring your man back safely."  
Towers was not to be mollified by empty rhetoric. "I hope you realise, Ambassador, that this can be seen as an act of war."  
Foreign Secretary Hastings gave his colleague an annoyed look, but Alec and the MI6 man, Ken Willis, nodded in approval.  
The Ambassador turned to Towers. "My government wishes to assure you that they had nothing to do with this."  
"Oh please," Alec interrupted, earning an outright glare from Hastings, "one of your intelligence officers was caught on CCTV."  
Shaking his head, the Ambassador took a folder from his briefcase.  
"This man," he perused the folder, "this Ali Al-Redhi, indeed used to work for our Intelligence. However, he defected to the forces wishing to overthrow our government four months ago."  
"You mean the _pro-democracy_ movement," Towers couldn't help but interject.  
"William, for God's sake," Hastings chastised before turning to the Ambassador.  
"Forgive us. Emotions are running a bit high, as I'm sure you can imagine."  
"Of course," the Ambassador said magnanimously. "It must be distressing to have lost such an eminent member of one's Security Services."  
Hastings nodded, but the other three men in the room's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

- 0 -

When Alec and Ken got back to the Grid, Tariq and Malcolm were huddled over satellite images, trying to track where each of the six ships that docked with the large ship in the English Channel had gone. Beth, Dimitri and Ruth were slumped before their computers or talking on the phone. Alec cast a critical eye over the team. They looked absolutely shattered; all of them had been operating without a break for two days straight now. Ruth, in particular, looked on the point of collapse. Making a decision, he called them all to the meeting room.

"We got nothing from the Yemeni Ambassador. He claims Al-Redhi defected to the pro-democracy movement a few months ago. Ken checked with MI6 who confirmed they'd heard rumours that a few intelligence officers had gone over, but they can't confirm whether Al-Redhi was one of them."  
When he said nothing more, Ruth looked up angrily. "That's it? You just took his word for it?"  
Alec sighed. "Of course not. Towers tried to push him harder, but Hastings ran interference. Worried about a diplomatic incident, no doubt. Hell, Towers and Hastings almost came to blows after the Ambassador left."  
He met Ruth's angry look. "We're trying other avenues now. We have permission to ask the Americans for help."  
She didn't respond, but dropped her head to stare at the table.

Alec rubbed a hand over his face tiredly.  
"Look, you're all exhausted. We won't do Harry any good if we all collapse, so I'm ordering you to go home and get some sleep. From now on we'll be working in shifts. Ruth, Malcolm, Dimitri, you go home. Tariq, Beth and I will take the first shift."  
Ruth's head snapped up belligerently, but Alec pre-empted her objection. "Please, Ruth. You know Harry would have said the same if he were here."  
She closed her mouth before nodding reluctantly.

As they got up from the table, Dimitri gave Beth a meaningful look, and she put a hand on Ruth's shoulder and held her back. Ruth frowned at her inquiringly, but Beth waited until they were alone before speaking. She looked extremely ill at ease as she reached into her pocket.  
"We thought you'd like to have Harry's things that were dumped at the site of the accident."  
She laid his watch, pen and other contents from his pockets on the table.  
Ruth reached out and touched the watch with trembling fingers. Beth watched her uncomfortably before gathering her courage.  
"Ruth," she said gently, as she once more reached into her pocket.  
"He also had this on him."  
She placed a small black velvet box next to the watch, and Ruth froze.  
Beth stood up as she spoke again. "Dimitri and I didn't think everyone else needed to know about it."  
With that, she quietly left the room.  
After an eternity, Ruth managed to move and pick up the box. The ring inside was simple and elegant, and beautiful. She turned it in her shaking fingers reverently, and read the tiny inscription:

_Ruth, my love, my life. Harry_

"Oh, Harry…" Her sight blurred and she wondered how long he'd been carrying it around with him, waiting for the right opportunity.  
She slipped it onto her finger. It fit perfectly.

Outside, Alec collared Malcolm.  
"You're staying with Ruth, aren't you?"  
Malcolm nodded. Ruth had offered him the spare room, saying that her and Harry's house was closer to the office than Malcolm's, and he had recognised the offer for what it was: an unspoken plea not to leave her alone with her memories in the house she'd shared with Harry.  
"Good," Alec continued. "Please get her to rest. Drug her if you have to."  
With that, he handed Malcolm some pills.  
"Er, right," Malcolm mumbled.

- 0 -

Alec was dozing at his desk when Tariq shook his shoulder. The young man had dark circles under his eyes and his stubble stood out starkly against his pale skin. Rubbing his own unshaven cheeks wearily, Alec tried to get his eyes to focus. He desperately wished for a drink, anything with alcohol in it, but knew that this would be the worst possible time to start drinking heavily again. He needed all his wits at their sharpest to handle this crisis.

Tariq was holding up a mobile, and Alec's tired brain finally cottoned on to the fact that it was Harry's.  
"I've been checking the calls log on Harry's phone against the time he left the Grid. The last call he received was from Beecher, the CIA man."  
Sitting up straighter, Alec thought about this nugget of information.  
"Can you get a recording of the call somehow?"  
Tariq shook his head. "Harry's phone is encrypted and I personally installed a device that makes it impossible for anyone to monitor his calls."  
He seemed devastated by the idea that his own technology was hindering them in their search for Harry.  
"Tariq." Alec stood up so that he could look the young man in the eye.  
"None of this is your fault."  
"I should have realised sooner that his car had been in an accident," Tariq replied stubbornly.  
"How? By telepathy? It's not your job to track Harry's every movement, and you know it. We were outsmarted, but it's nobody's fault, okay?"  
The techie nodded miserably before moving back to his station.

Sighing heavily, Alec grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and called over the Grid.  
"Beth, come on."  
She looked up. "Where are we going?"  
"Liaising with the Cousins."  
Beth was nonplussed. "But it's the early hours of the morning. They'll be asleep."  
"All the better. We'll catch them off guard," Alec said, sounding cheered by the thought of inconveniencing the Americans.  
She followed him without further argument.

At Beecher's house, Alec leaned heavily on the doorbell, and it sounded incredibly loud in the silence of the early hour. A light went on upstairs, but still he continued to ring it. When Beth rolled her eyes at him, he grinned at her.  
"You're a real charmer, aren't you," she muttered in an annoyed tone.  
"When I have to be," he responded as Beecher yanked the door open and stared at them groggily.  
"It's three o'clock in the morning! What the _hell _do you want?" he asked incredulously as he realised who was standing in front of him.

Alec waded right in. "Harry's been kidnapped." He explained what had happened briefly before coming to their reason for being there.  
"The last call he received before going off to his mysterious meeting was from you. If I were a suspicious man, I'd suspect you of setting him up. And I am a suspicious man."  
He gave Beecher a hard look. "But Beth here thought we should at least hear your side of the story, so here we are."  
The three spooks stood staring at each other, each waiting for the other to blink. Finally Beecher broke the silence.  
"I'm very sorry to hear about Harry. The CIA will give you all the support it can in finding him, of course."  
"How kind. But you haven't answered my question."  
Beecher's eyes moved between the two MI5 officers briefly before settling back on Alec.  
"I called him to set up a meeting for tomorrow… For today, I mean."  
"What about?" Alec would not let up.  
"To make sure everyone here is still committed to military action in Libya."  
A few seconds ticked by before Alec smiled. "Right, thanks. Sorry for disturbing you."  
But he did not sound sorry at all.

Back in the car he turned to Beth.  
"What did you think?"  
"He's lying," she responded without hesitation.  
"My thoughts exactly."  
Beth fished out her mobile. "Tariq, can you check Harry's diary for today and see of he had any meetings scheduled?"  
She waited a few moments while Alec drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.  
"Right, thanks." She hung up. "No meeting with Beecher pencilled in."  
Without taking his eyes off Beecher's house, Alec blew out a frustrated breath. "What the hell is going on?"  
Beth had no answer to that.

- 0 -

_Harry_

The crate was loaded into a truck and Harry was unable to see anything for the duration of the drive. After some time the truck's movement seized and he heard doors opening and closing. The back door slid open and someone climbed into the space. Harry heard a splintering noise and saw the end of a crowbar appearing between two slats. He moved as far away as possible and watched as one end of the crate was broken open. It fell away to reveal a man standing outside the truck in bright sunshine. Beyond him a bush plane sat on a runway, and beyond that there were only trees. There was no sign of life anywhere. When Harry didn't move, the man spoke and Harry instantly recognised the American voice.  
"Get out."

Harry's eyes once again swept the surroundings, but he saw nothing that could be of use to him. He began to inch forward, trying not to move his head or his knee too much. The American lost patience and stepped forward to grab Harry by the collar and drag him out. As he did so, he crinkled his nose in disgust at the smell of old vomit emanating from the crate.  
"Got seasick, did you?" he commented as he deposited Harry on the ground. The sudden movement made his head spin and his stomach rose up again. It was with some degree of satisfaction that he threw up all over the man's shoes, momentarily disappointed that there was nothing but bile in his stomach.  
"For fuck's sake!" The American jumped away, and Harry steadied himself on all fours.  
"Not seasick," he managed to croak out. "Concussion."

The man fetched a bottle of water from the cab and rinsed his shoes. Harry watched with envious eyes as the water trickled into the grass. He'd not had anything to eat or to drink since the kidnapping and he was famished. Noticing Harry's interest in the water, the man took a deep drink from the bottle.  
"Get up," he commanded.  
Harry shook his head carefully. "Can't. Knee's gone."  
The American regarded the pitiful sight before him critically. "Jesus," he drawled at last, "they haven't even started with you and you're already fucked. You won't last a week."  
He beckoned to someone outside Harry's field of vision and moments later two large black men appeared from behind the truck.  
"Strip him," he tossed some clothes at Harry's feet, "and dress him in that. Then bring him to the plane."

After dressing in lightweight pants and a T-shirt, Harry watched as his old clothes were thrown into the crate and the truck drove off. The two black men hoisted him into the plane and shoved him down on the floor at the back before chaining him to a steel ring welded to the seat in front of him. They disappeared again and Harry looked up to see the American watching him from the cockpit. He got up and walked down the length of the plane, a bottle of water in his hand. He squatted in front of Harry and debated with himself before handing his prisoner the water.  
"Here. Don't drink it all at once."  
Harry stared at him, surprised by the act of kindness, and quickly grabbed the bottle before it was snatched away again.  
"Thank you," he said, his voice gravelly and dry. He took a careful sip, and couldn't remember a time when water had ever tasted so sweet.  
As the American got up, Harry figured he might as well ask.  
"Where are you taking me?"  
There was a brief hesitation, then the American responded. "You're going to Bukavu, to become the guest of the FDLR."  
"The FDLR?" Harry asked in surprise. "You have contact with a rebel group in eastern DRC?"  
The American smiled. "We have a business agreement with them. They give us coltan from the mines they are controlling, and we help them with weapons."

The plane took off as Harry slowly sipped the water and contemplated his fate. He was going to the Democratic Republic of Congo, right in the heart of Africa and one of the most unstable regions in the world. Bukavu was situated on that country's border with Rwanda, and was held by the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda, the remnants of the Hutu forces responsible for the genocide. He shuddered at the thought of what they might do to him and closed his eyes in despair.  
Who would ever think to look for him in the Congo?

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

_London_

Over the next few days they made very little progress. Every lead they followed turned into a dead end. It seemed that Harry had disappeared without trace. Ruth felt her heart crack a little more with every minute that passed without word, and her colleagues watched with concern as she turned increasingly into herself. She found solace in the work and not only tirelessly continued the search for Harry, but also fulfilled all her other duties without fail.

However, each evening as she stepped through the door of their house, reality came crashing back down on her and she watched sadly as Scarlet waited by the door all evening. In vain. Malcolm could see the melancholy settle on her shoulders as soon as they got home, and on the third night suggested as tactfully as he knew how that they should perhaps move to a safe house. Ruth considered the offer for a few seconds before declining.  
"This is where I feel closest to him, Malcolm."  
She looked at him with a small smile. "Odd really, considering we spent most of our time on the Grid."  
Malcolm scratched a cat behind the ear. "Not really. This is where you knew just plain Harry, the man, rather than Sir Harry the Protector of the Realm."  
Ruth swallowed hard. "Yes," she said softly, lost in her memories for a moment.  
"That's why I don't want to lose this connection to him. But thank you for the thought."  
He smiled crookedly at her. "I'll take Scarlet for a walk." He collected the dog and disappeared through the door, considerately giving her some time on her own.

While he was gone she wandered through the house, randomly touching some of the things she knew Harry loved. She cleared her mind of attempts to figure out his whereabouts, and thought only of him. His eyes, his voice, his laugh. The way sleeping in his arms made her feel so safe, so cherished. She lifted the bottle of Scotch standing on the sideboard and sniffed at it, remembering the way he tasted when they kissed after he'd had a drink. If she closed her eyes and concentrated hard enough, she could almost feel him in the room with her. She stood like that, her eyes squeezed shut, for as long as she could bear it before opening her eyes again.  
"Hold on, Harry," she murmured into the silence of the house. "We're coming for you. I love you."

- 0 -

_Harry_

The FDLR camp was situated deep in the equatorial forest that surrounded Bukavu. Harry's first week with them was spent naked in a small metal cage. It was just big enough for him to sit upright with his knees drawn to his chest, a position that was pure agony for his injured knee. The bars of the cage were electrified, so that each time he fell asleep and touched them, he got a shock that left his heart thumping irregularly for a long time afterwards. By the end of the first day his muscles began to spasm from the prolonged period in the one position. They left him outside to the mercy of the elements, until his skin blistered from the sun. At night the mosquitoes would descend on him in swarms, and since he had no space to swat at them, he had to sit still and endure it as they sucked his blood from him. But it was still preferable to the intense heat of the sun during the day. From time to time his captors would hose him down to make the shocks even more effective, and to wash his waste away, as they would not allow him to leave the cage for the toilet. During these hosings Harry would try to capture as much water as possible in his mouth to supplement the small cup of water they gave him once a day. He also received one apple each day, and he was so ravenous that he ate every single part of it, right down to the pips.

The hallucinations started on the afternoon of the third day. As the sun beat down mercilessly on his blistered skin, he thought he felt a cool hand on his sweating forehead.  
"Oh honey, you're burning up." It was his mother's sweet voice, and he felt like crying.  
"Mom…" He stretched out an arm to reach for her, but his hand touched a steel bar instead and the electricity coursed through him. When he was able to open his eyes one of the FDLR men was standing there instead of his mother, laughing at him. He closed his eyes again and let the tears flow down his face.

By the time darkness fell on the fifth day he could barely remember his own name, and this time it was her that came.  
Ruth.  
She was caressing his face and telling him to hold on, that they were coming for him. He knew, somehow, that she wasn't real, and he opened his mouth and screamed his agony at the forest around him. When he stopped screaming she was still there, crouching just outside the cage.  
"I love you," she said, and he finally let go. He collapsed against the bars, and the man watching from the nearest building switched off the electricity.  
"Bring him inside."

- 0 -

_London_

Everyone on the Grid looked up as the doors slid open to reveal the DG and Home Secretary. They were accompanied by a tall, thin black man with a clean shaven head. He was smartly dressed in a conservative suit and his eyes swept across the Grid in a practiced manner as he entered. He gave the impression of not missing much.  
"Who's that?" Dimitri asked Ruth.  
"That's Michael Lewis. Head of Section C. Northern Ireland."  
"What's he doing here?" Dimitri wondered.  
Ruth didn't answer, but she could guess, and it broke her heart.

Her suspicions were confirmed once they were all gathered in the meeting room.  
"Michael will take over the duties of Section Head until such time as we get Harry back," the DG announced. He paused before continuing more sympathetically. "We all would rather not have this situation, but things are getting missed due to the focus on finding Harry. I need this Section to once again concentrate on its main duties, which is identifying and countering terrorist threats. I trust that you will all give Michael your fullest cooperation."  
The silence that followed was shattered by the Home Secretary's mobile phone. He held up a hand in apology before answering.  
"Yes? … You're sure it's him? … We'd like a chance to talk to him, Ambassador … This is much appreciated, thank you."  
He looked at Alec.  
"That was the Yemeni Ambassador. They've apprehended Al-Redhi in Yemen. They also found a crate with some bloody clothes in at the same place. These items, as well as Al-Redhi, are already on their way here and they are happy for us to talk to him."

The room came alive with anticipation and purpose. Alec was about to start giving orders when he remembered Lewis. He turned to him.  
"You're the boss." It was almost a challenge.  
Lewis held the Section Chief's look before smiling slightly. "Alec, you go with Dimitri. Do whatever is necessary to get something from this man."  
The DG and Home Secretary departed, but Lewis asked the rest of the team to remain. He studied each of them in turn, lingering slightly longer on Ruth.  
"From this moment on, when anyone outside of this team asks, our main priority is no longer to find Harry. It is to do our normal jobs."  
The level of resentment rose to an almost tangible level.  
"However, despite what we tell others, I give you a solemn undertaking that we will not give up, not stop looking until we've found him. But it can't be at the risk of the country's safety. Are we agreed on that?"  
Six heads nodded in unison.  
"In order to achieve this, I'm tasking Malcolm and Ruth with the primary search for Harry. The rest of us will pick up the slack from Ruth's normal work as much as we can. Whenever they find something that we can check out, I will designate field officers to do so."  
He smiled at them. "I hope not to be here too long, and that Harry will be sitting in this chair again very soon. Dismissed."

- 0 -

Ali Al-Redhi was seated at a table in a small featureless room in the Yemen Embassy. Alec and Dimitri were directed to the two chairs opposite. Behind them, two Yemeni Intelligence officers were standing against the wall, weapons casually dangling from their hands. Blood was trickling from Al-Redhi's nose, and a bruise was forming above his eyebrow.  
Alec turned to one of the men behind him. "What happened to him?"  
The man shrugged. "We softened him up a bit for you."

Dimitri stared at Al-Redhi. "Where is Harry Pearce?"  
"Who?" The Yemeni reached up to touch the bruise on his forehead.  
"Let's stop with the games," Alec butted in. He spread the photos on the table between them, clearly chronicling the accident and Al-Redhi's presence.  
"Where did you take him?"  
Al-Redhi drew one of the photos to him and studied it.  
"To Yemen," he answered finally.  
"Where in Yemen?"  
"I don't know. I handed him over to the pro-democracy movement, I don't know where they took him."  
Alec and Dimitri glanced at each other.  
"What would the pro-democracy movement want with a British Intelligence officer?"  
The Yemeni had barely finished shrugging nonchalantly when Alec was around the table and grabbed the back of the man's head. He shoved his forehead to the table, hard, and the man yelped in pain as his bruise made contact with the hard surface.  
"You're lying, you bastard! I swear to God I will snap your neck if you don't tell me what you know."  
The man started whining pitifully, trying to twist his neck to look at the two men standing against the wall.  
"Please, I do as you say! Please! It was his own-"

What happened next took place so fast that neither Alec nor Dimitri had time to react. One of the Yemeni Intelligence officers sprang forward, yelling "He has a knife!"  
Al-Redhi was yanked from Alec's grasp and there was a brief struggle before blood started spurting everywhere. Ali Al Redhi sank to the floor, his main artery severed.  
Their only link to Harry was bleeding quickly to death in front of their eyes.

- 0 -

"Bloody hell, what happened?" Beth was first to notice their two blood-spattered colleagues enter the Grid.  
"They slit his throat," Alec responded as he threw his jacket on his desk in disgust.  
"Tariq, see what you can get from the hidden camera Dimitri was wearing. Something was off about the whole damn thing."  
As Tariq scurried off with the camera, Alec looked around.  
"Where's Malcolm?"  
"Harry's clothes were delivered earlier. He's seeing if he can get anything from them."  
Sighing, Alec nodded in the direction of Harry's office and Dimitri followed him over.  
"Ken, you come too."

Michael looked up to see three men standing before him, two of them covered in blood. His only response was a raising of the eyebrows. Alec reported succinctly on what happened.  
"He said he'd taken Harry to Yemen. I think we need to follow that up."  
The Acting Section Head nodded and turned to Ken. "Can Six help us with that?"  
"Yeah. We have a few people on the ground there. Not as many as the Americans, though."  
"Naturally," Michael mused. "Okay, Ken, get to Yemen and see what you can dig up. I'll speak to the Americans, get them to help you out."

- 0 -

_Harry_

It was dark and humid, and he was not alone. Those are the first things Harry noticed when he came to. Then the pain hit, a stinging, burning sensation over his head, shoulders and back. He tried to move but found his hands bound to the leg of the bed, preventing him from turning over. A groan escaped him and a man materialised out of the darkness. Harry had trouble focussing on his face and his head felt woozy. He tried to speak but found his tongue unwilling to comply with his brain's commands.  
"Good, you're awake." The man came closer and untied Harry's hands, then helped him to sit up when he failed to do so on his own.

Harry shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his brain, but it didn't help. It took great concentration to form a word, but he finally managed.  
"Drugged… me?" he mumbled.  
The man laughed, apparently delighted that Harry cottoned on so fast.  
"You had severe sunstroke, and we must keep you alive until the time comes. It was necessary to keep you quiet while your skin healed."  
Frowning, Harry managed another few words.  
"How long?"  
"Oh, a few days," the man said and smiled again.  
Somehow Harry didn't believe him. He suspected it was much longer than that. His companion sat down next to him and helped him drink some water. He was assisting Harry to eat some cassava, a strange mashy, stringy vegetable when the door opened.

Another man, tall, strongly built and very dark strode into the room. When Harry succeeded in focussing on his face he noticed a scar running along his left cheek to his ear, and he knew who the man was. Faustin Kanyarengwe was wanted by The Hague for crimes against humanity. Harry vividly remembered the photographs he'd seen of this man's handiwork during the genocide. Kanyarengwe looked him over with cold eyes.  
"He looks better. We can start tomorrow, no?"  
The man next to Harry nodded mutely, and Kanyarengwe bared his teeth at Harry.  
"You rest tonight. Tomorrow we have some fun."  
The way he said it left Harry in no doubt that he would not be the one having the fun.

- 0 -

_London_

Malcolm sat staring at Harry's bloodied clothes. He had been working on them for the last three days, trying to coax a clue to Harry's whereabouts from the cloth. Unsuccessfully to date. He sighed and picked up the once pristine white shirt, now stained brown by old blood. Harry's head wound had bled copiously and the whole front of the shirt was speckled with his blood. Malcolm carefully folded the shirt and set it aside. He reached for the jacket next, once again noticing the tear in the lining. As he folded the jacket, it occurred to him that the outside of the jacket was not damaged in any way. Spreading it open on the table once more, he inspected the tear more closely, even lifting the lining and peering underneath. He saw nothing.

As he sat back with a defeated sigh, his eye caught the bloodied shirt again, and he realised. _Blood_. It would not show up to the naked eye against the dark material of the jacket. Scrabbling around in the forgery suite he located an ultraviolet light and switched off the lights. He once again lifted the lining and ran the light slowly over the dark material underneath. And there it was, clear as day. A message written in blood.

_Tangiers. CIA/6_

_tbc_


	5. Chapter 5

_London_

Ruth looked over at Harry's office, noticing the occupant inside bent over some paperwork. She had not gone in there since Michael had arrived on the Grid, finding it too painful to see anyone else seated at Harry's desk. Michael seemed to understand, and whenever he wanted to talk to her, he would come out and speak to her at her station. But she knew that what she wanted to discuss with him this morning should be done in privacy, so steeling herself, she went over and knocked on the door.

Michael looked up in surprise. Ruth was the last person he expected to see hovering in his door. He ushered her into one of the chairs in front of the desk before sitting down behind it again. For some reason he felt awkward, and had to fight down the urge to get up and move away from the desk. He had been careful not to change anything in Harry's office since his arrival. Although the chances of getting Harry back alive diminished with every day that passed, he didn't want to create the impression that he for one second thought his stay here might become more permanent. And more than with anyone else, he was solicitous towards Ruth's feelings. He was well aware of the depth of her relationship with Harry, and he didn't want to upset her more than she already was.

She perched on the edge of the chair, her eyes flitting around the office she knew so well. Everything was the same, except for the man behind the desk.  
"Erm… I wanted to talk to you about Harry's disappearance."  
"Yes?" Michael said carefully.  
"We're getting nowhere with trying to locate him. I think it's time we concentrate on the reason behind his kidnapping. Uhm, try to figure out where he is by figuring out who has him."  
Michael studied her. "You don't think Al-Redhi was telling the truth when he claimed that the Yemeni pro-democracy movement is behind it?"  
Ruth finally met his eyes. "No, I don't. We have studied the footage of his interrogation, and we know that he didn't have a knife. He was killed because he was about to say something he shouldn't. I have also looked into the pro-democracy movement, and there is no way they have the means to plan and execute such an elaborate operation. And they have absolutely nothing to gain by kidnapping Harry. In fact, it would only damage their reputation and diminish international sympathy for them."

Michael leaned back in his chair thoughtfully. "Okay, so give me your theory."  
"In order for my theory to make sense, there is something you need to know first." She weighed her words carefully.  
"About three months ago, Harry stopped a shipment of UK weapons from going to the Yemeni government. It was a black op from Six, and it didn't have government backing. The aim was to assist the Yemeni government in putting down the pro-democracy movement, to bring a halt to the momentum of the protests developing all across the Middle East. We suspected the plot had strong CIA backing, and that it was an attempt to stall these protests before it spread to Saudi Arabia. It would put the West, and the US in particular, in a rather difficult position if Saudi Arabia began to use force against its own citizens calling for democracy."

The Acting Section Head stared at her. "I see. You're sure the op didn't have government backing?"  
Ruth nodded. "Harry took it to the Home Secretary, who knew nothing about it. If there were government involvement, it was not sanctioned by the PM."  
"I see," he said again. "So what, you think the Yemeni government got pissed because Harry stopped the shipment and decided to get rid of him?"  
"No," Ruth responded decisively. "I think Six, with the possible collusion of the CIA, got tired of Harry interfering in their illegal operations and decided to get rid of him, with the help of the Yemenis. Remember what Al-Redhi said just before he was killed: _It was his own_."  
Michael closed his eyes. "Christ, Ruth, that is a very serious allegation-"  
He was interrupted by Malcolm rushing through the door.  
"Harry managed to write a message on his jacket. He was taken to Tangiers. And he also indicated that the CIA and Six were involved."  
Michael's eyes swivelled back to Ruth, and she could read in them that he knew that she was right. Things had suddenly become much more complicated.

- 0 -

_Harry_

The days passed in a haze of agony for Harry. He was kept in a windowless room that was dark whether it was night or day, so that he could not be sure of the passing of time. It was hot and humid inside, and he had flies and mosquitoes for constant companions. He wondered, in a rare moment of clear thought, how they got into the room when he could not see a single chink of light or feel the slightest draft of air anywhere.

They came for him at irregular intervals, dragging him to another room where he would be shackled to the wall while they beat him. Two, sometimes three big men would take turns pummelling every inch of his body while Faustin Kanyarengwe looked on. After the first such beating Harry started pissing blood, and he hadn't stopped since. He lost count of the amount of cracked and broken bones he suffered. Some days, for variety, they would shackle him facing the wall, and whip him with a sjambok until his back was covered in blood. His periods of consciousness became less and less, his body slowly shutting down from the prolonged abuse. He began to crave the rare times when he was alone in the dark dank room, and conscious enough to appreciate the respite. He spent these interludes thinking about Ruth, remembering every minute of the time he'd known her, from that first day when she'd walked into the meeting room dropping her files all over the place, to their last moment of togetherness in the corridor. Sometimes he would hallucinate and see her sitting in the room with him, and he'd hold whole conversations with her. But always, a tiny part of him knew that it wasn't real, and he did his best to hang onto that part, to not be broken totally. That little part of him refused to give up on the hope that he would one day see her again.

Sometimes, they would take him to the torture chamber and tie him to a chair, and Faustin would position another chair in front of him and hold long political and philosophical discussions with him. Harry, able to grasp that the man fancied himself as some sort of intellectual, tried manfully to hold up his end of the conversation, but found his mental faculties dimmed by pain, malnutrition and dehydration. Still, it was his only chance to establish some sort of connection with his captors, and he did his best to make the most of it.

Today seemed to be one of those days. Harry tried to focus on the man in front of him. He was sweating, and on top of everything else he felt like he was getting the flu.  
"So," Faustin began, "you a… big man, or how they say, an _important_ man in England?"  
Harry shook his head. "'Fraid not."  
Faustin snorted. "Then why did your people send you here?"  
Harry contemplated, his sluggish mind trying to come up with something plausible.  
"A woman," he finally said. "The man who sent me here wanted my woman."  
Faustin laughed uproariously. "Very good, Englishman!" He regarded Harry with amusement. "But not true. I know you're a spy. So, you're a Big Man. I call you Boss from now on. You westerners think you're better than us. We all savages here in Africa, no Boss?"  
Harry closed his eyes. He was feeling nauseous and was developing a splitting headache.  
"Not all," he muttered, "just the ones who commit genocide and hack women and children to pieces because they're from another ethnic group."

Faustin's eyes flashed with anger. "It is us or them, Boss. We don't do it to them, they will do it to us. You people are too squeamish to do what must be done; you talk, talk, talk and get nowhere. That's why you will never win your 'war on terror'. You're too afraid to see the whites of your enemy's eyes and watch the life flow out of them. Like I will soon do with you."  
He smiled in satisfaction.  
"I look forward to it," Harry said softly, not sure how much more he could endure before his body gave up completely.  
Faustin regarded his captive critically. "I congratulate you. You're lasting much longer than we thought you would. Not as soft as you look."  
Harry tried to keep his head upright. "Oh good, didn't want to disappoint."  
The large man laughed again. "You funny man, Boss. I like you," he decided on the spot.  
Feeling a flicker of hope, Harry chose his next words carefully. "Thanks. I like you too."  
As Faustin seemed pleased by that, Harry decided to push his luck a little more.  
"Perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement." Thinking of Ruth, he added quietly, "I'd very much like to live. Very much."  
"You offering me money?" Faustin's voice had required a hard edge and Harry knew he had miscalculated.  
"No. Don't have any," he added as an afterthought.

This elicited another laugh. Faustin considered the battered man in front of him. "Tell you what, Boss. You offer me the same weapons your people are giving me for killing you, I spare you. What you say?"  
He watched Harry keenly.  
Harry closed his eyes and fought down the impulse to throw up. Images floated in front of him, of women and children sliced to pieces with pangas by this man's men. He so desperately wanted to live, to see Ruth and his children again. _Just this once, perhaps it would be acceptable if he did it just this once_… The bile rose up in his throat.  
"I'm going to be sick," he moaned. Faustin loosened his arms so he could lean sideways and throw up next to the chair. When he was done, he was hauled upright and shoved to the door.  
"You think about it, Boss," Faustin said as he departed.

- 0 -

_London_

It was late at night when they gathered at the Home Secretary's house for a secret meeting. Only Towers, Michael and the core team attended. Ken Willis was most definitely not invited. After Ruth and Malcolm had briefed them on the latest developments, Towers took over.  
"From now on, only the people in this room must know what you're doing. Michael, you report directly to me. Not even your DG can be in the loop."  
Michael nodded reluctantly. He had always been a man who played it straight, by the rules. This situation was making him very uncomfortable. However, he knew that Towers had the ear of the PM, and therefore convinced himself that this undertaking had the support of the Head of State.  
"What will you do next?" Towers asked Ruth.  
"We should send someone to Tangiers to get the records of all the yachts that were anchored there on the day the ship carrying Harry docked. Someone must have seen something. Once we have the list, Malcolm and I will begin the process of finding them and questioning them."  
"I'll go," Dimitri said. "I have a contact in the Moroccan Navy."  
"And we should put surveillance on Ken." Everyone looked at Ruth in surprise, so she explained further.  
"If I were Six I would use the opportunity of us asking for their help to plant a mole. If we can find out where he goes and who he meets we will have a better idea of who else is involved."  
And so the final push to find Harry started.

- 0 -

It took Dimitri a few days to get the information they wanted. Ruth and Malcolm then began the laborious process of contacting all the millionaires whose yachts had been there, and questioning them on whether they'd seen anything. It was a frustrating, time-consuming process which made Ruth despair of ever making progress. Each night she went home, missing Harry so much she could barely breathe some nights, before falling asleep with Scarlet and the cats on the bed with her so as not to feel totally alone. She dreamed of him, every night without fail. Sometimes the dreams were filled with horrible images of him being tortured, other times he was here in their house with her, in the bed with her. Strangely it was usually from those that she woke up crying.

After two frustrating weeks Malcolm finally found something. A retired British businessman had been there, and he remembered seeing the ship in question.  
"I remember because it was nice to hear an accent from home," he told Dimitri and Beth when they visited him.  
They looked at each other. "Can you describe what you saw?" Dimitri asked more out of hope than conviction.  
"Oh, I can do better," said the man, holding up a video camera. "I have it on tape."

They gathered in the meeting room to watch it together. The camera panned around the harbour. It was sunrise, and the sun bathed everything in a golden light. Then it focused on a ship a few berths away. On the deck a crate could clearly be seen, with two white men standing next to it, talking, before moving on.  
"Tariq, zoom in on those two men."  
He did so, and as the two men came into focus, all the blood drained from Ruth's face, and for the first time they heard Malcolm swear.  
"That fucking bastard," he said vehemently, looking at the unmistakable face of Oliver Mace.

- 0 -

I took two more weeks for them to make further progress. After tracing Mace's movements to southern Spain, Dimitri and Beth had gone there to investigate, and found that he was living luxuriously in a villa whilst running black ops for Six. But there was no sign of Harry. Their focus shifted to the second man seen in the video with Mace, and after database searches failed to identify him, Beth suggested that they check among the private security company community operating in Africa. At long last one of her old contacts came through and identified the man as an American pilot specialising in flying weapons and other goods into Central Africa for the CIA. After identifying the plane he used, they eventually traced its flight to Bukavu on the date in question.

"There is a South African private security company operating out of Lubumbashi, in the south of the DRC," Beth stated.  
"It consists of former Recces, hard unscrupulous men trained by the old regime who'll do anything for money. My former outfit used them on occasion. They may be our best option."  
Towers nodded. "Do it. I don't care what it costs, I'll authorise it."  
Thus Beth and Dimitri found themselves on the MI5 jet bound for Lubumbashi.

- 0 -

As they anxiously waited for word that Beth and Dimitri had arrived, Ruth kept herself busy to try and stop from going insane with worry. Ever mindful of the reason behind Harry's disappearance, she monitored local Six/CIA communications minutely in the event they tried to move the shipment of weapons again. It came as no surprise to her, then, when she realised they would try to do so that night, this time by flying the shipment out.

She rushed to inform Michael, and was in the middle of explaining her information when Tariq appeared in the doorway.  
"You need to see this." His voice was tight with anxiety.  
They followed him to his computer, where a video link was open, the camera focussed on an empty chair.  
Michael frowned in confusion.  
"What's going on?"  
"I got an e-mail with the link attached," Tariq explained. He opened the mail and they read the message in silence.

_Stay tuned to see what happens to people who stick their noses in where they shouldn't._

"Oh, no…" Ruth said, unable to tear her eyes from the message. A phone rang behind them. Alec snatched it up and spoke briefly.  
"Beth," he reported. "The South Africans found out where he's being held; they should be there in an hour."  
"Not soon enough," Ruth murmured in anguish.  
Her words were prophetic as there was sudden movement on the video link. They watched in mute frustration as a man was half-dragged, half-carried into view and deposited on the chair.  
"Jesus," Alec said quietly. Ruth clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. Malcolm had gone very pale. He moved to stand next to Ruth and gently pushed her down into a chair, before resting his hand on her shoulder in a futile attempt at comfort.

The bedraggled, emaciated apparition before them was almost unrecognisable as the man who had once bestrode the Grid with such assurance, such authority. He was sweating and shivering at the same time, and sat there mumbling to himself. They could make out a few words here and there.  
"Couldn't… women, children… sorry… Ruth…"  
Malcolm had to swallow before he could speak. "He's delirious. The sweating and shivering – he's clearly running a high fever. Probably malaria, taken where he is."  
Seeking refuge in facts.

A powerfully built black man wearing a balaclava came into view and handed Harry a piece of paper.  
"Read this," he commanded.  
It took tremendous effort from Harry to focus on the paper. He squinted at it, then shook his head.  
"Too many els." His voice faded away at the end and his head dropped forward.  
"What?" The other man sounded confused. When Harry didn't respond, he shook his shoulder roughly, and Harry lifted his head again.  
"Imperialists. Only one 'l'."  
Harry's captor was not impressed. "Read it!" he yelled.  
Harry shook his head. "I refuse."  
In fury the man pistol-whipped Harry, causing a cut to open above one eye and blood to stream down the side of his face.  
"Read it!" the man ordered again.

The blow seemed to have cleared Harry's head as he managed to look straight into the camera.  
"No."  
He cowered as his assailant drew back his arm to deliver another blow, but the blow never came. Instead the man squatted down next to Harry.  
"Come now, Boss. Your friends are watching. Don't make me hurt you in front of them."  
"Friends?" Harry queried.  
"Yes. Your people back in England. They're watching right now."

Harry stared at the camera, trying to compute what Faustin had said. They're watching, _Ruth_ was watching. He crumbled.  
"If you let me talk to them first, I'll read it."  
Faustin considered. "Okay. Because I like you, Boss," he said magnanimously.  
Harry looked into the camera. "Don't let them win," he said as strongly as he could. "Ruth… You know what this is about. _Don't_ let them win."  
When Faustin stepped forward again Harry hurriedly continued.  
"Ruth… Oh God I love you. Tell Catherine and Graham I love them, and I'm so sorry for everything. You remember me well, yes? Don't remember… _this_. Remember… reading Ovid in bed together." He smiled softly. "Or dancing barefoot in the sitting room. The weekend in Paris."  
"Enough," Faustin interrupted. "You read this now."

Harry looked at him, his eyes filled with anguish.  
"Please, I beg you. I want to live. So much. Please." He spoke softly, with dignity.  
"You will give me the weapons?" Faustin asked in response.  
Tears welled in Harry's eyes.  
"No. I can't."  
"Then I can't either." The gun was cocked with an ominous click and pressed against Harry's temple.  
Harry was breathing deeply, erratically, as he tried not to break down completely.  
"Oh no… I'm so sorry Ruth. I love you. Promise me you won't let this destroy you. You live, you hear me? You _live_."  
He turned his head and stared down the barrel of the gun.  
"Will you do me one favour? Shoot me through the heart."  
Faustin nodded and pressed the gun against Harry's heart.  
Harry kept his eyes on the camera, as though he could see Ruth on the other side.  
Faustin began to pull the trigger and Harry spoke one last word.  
"Ruth," he whispered a heartbeat before the shot reverberated around the room.

On the Grid, they watched his body jerk with the impact, before his head fell slowly forward. He didn't move again.

_tbc_


	6. Chapter 6

_Present day  
London_

A stunned silence hangs over the Grid. No-one moves or speaks for the longest time. All eyes remain riveted on Harry's slumped form, willing him to move. But he doesn't.

The silence is finally broken by a stifled sob from Ruth.  
Malcolm leans down to speak gently to her, trying to hide his own grief.  
"Come away, Ruth. Come away."  
She shrugs him off.  
"No. I'm staying with him. Until they come. I won't leave him alone in the valley of death."  
So they remain, Ruth seated and Malcolm standing behind her shoulder, watching over Harry.

Half an hour passes before they see Beth and Dimitri enter. Beth checks for a pulse, then shakes her head at the camera, tears in her eyes. But they already knew. It isn't until his body is removed from their sight that Ruth drops her head into her hands, and allows herself to fully grieve for the man she loves. Malcolm stays with her but doesn't say anything, knowing that there is nothing to be said that will make things better.

A long time passes before Michael approaches the pair.  
"Come on, I'll take you home."  
Ruth looks up dully. "I want to be at the airport when they bring him home."  
"Of course. I'll come and pick you up again later and we'll all go together."  
She starts to nod before stopping suddenly. "What? No, you need to stop that shipment of weapons tonight."  
Michael shifts uncomfortably under her gaze.  
"I've decided against it."  
Ruth shoots to her feet and gets right in his face. "_What_?! You're going to let them win? Let Harry's death be in vain?"  
Riled by her fury, he snaps back defensively, "It's not our job to stop this. It's Six's responsibility to police their own people."  
"That's an excuse and you know it. You're sticking your head into the sand. Harry is _dead_. He died for _this_."  
Michael drops his head. "Ruth," he says regretfully, "we can't all be like Harry."  
She takes a step back, and nods slowly. "No. And that's why it's come to this. It is because he's had to stand alone for so long that they have the arrogance to think that removing him is all they have to do to clear their path. Well. Congratulations for proving them right."  
She turns her back on him in disgust.

Michael stands alone in the middle of the Grid, feeling the accusing eyes of Alec, Tariq and Malcolm on him. He looks at Ruth's stiff back and remembers Harry's abused face when he asked them not to let these people win. A sense of shame settles on his shoulders, and the thought of having to live with that feeling for the rest of his life appals him. Something shifts inside him, and despite the fear gnawing at his insides, he turns to Alec.  
"Let's go stop that shipment."  
He waits until Ruth turns back to him, surprise and hope on her face.  
"You're right." He pauses. "Harry was right. I swear I won't let them win."

- 0 -

_That evening_

Ken Willis hops out of the truck and moves round to open the back. The truck is parked next to a transport plane whose engines are running already. A forklift drives up and Ken waves it closer, but it stops a few paces off and stays there. Impatiently he walks over.  
"Come on, man. We don't have time to w-"  
He trails off as Michael gets off the forklift.  
"Actually, you're out of time," the Acting Section Head says and nods at the plane behind them.  
Ken turns to see Special Forces taking control of the plane and the trucks.  
"We've been monitoring your movements and communications for the last month," Michael continues. "It makes for interesting reading. We have more than enough to put you away for the illegal smuggling of weapons."  
His eyes harden. "And for the murder of Harry Pearce. You go back to your fellow conspirators and you tell them they miscalculated if they thought killing Harry would give them free rein. And tell them to watch their backs, because we will be coming for them."  
With that, he turns and walks away.  
Ken hesitates, then calls after him. "Michael, wait. I'll tell you everything."

- 0 -

_Later that night_

They are waiting for the MI5 jet to land when a Ministerial car drives up. Ruth turns in time to see William Towers step from the vehicle and walk towards them. He takes in the pale, drawn faces of the people gathered there and feels a great anger at those responsible for Harry's death. His eyes seek out Ruth.  
"I would like to pay my respects by being present when they bring him back, but I'll leave if you don't want me here."  
Ruth gives him a small smile, and simply nods. She does not have any words in her.

They all turn to watch as the plane's lights wink into view. Not a word is spoken as it touches down and taxies towards them. The door opens and Beth appears. She takes in the huddle of people gathered on the tarmac before turning back and helping Dimitri and the pilot to carry the stretcher with the special body bag down to where a gurney is waiting. After placing the body on it gently, they step back and no-one moves for a few seconds, whilst all eyes remain riveted on the body bag. When the Coroner's men start forward, Ruth suddenly finds her voice.  
"I'd like a moment."  
They watch silently as she steps over and carefully unzips the cooling bag just enough to reveal Harry's face. She reaches out with trembling fingers to brush across his forehead.  
"Oh, Harry," she gasps before leaning forward and pressing her lips to his cold cheek, her tears falling on his face.  
"We didn't let them win," she assures him. "You rest now, my love."  
Her voice hardens, and she adds, "I promise that I will not let your death go unanswered."  
After caressing his beloved face one last time, she straightens and zips up the bag again.

Without them being conscious of doing so, Harry's team and Towers form a guard of honour through which the body is wheeled before being loaded into the van. They remain like that long after the van has driven away.

- 0 -

_Two days later_

Foreign Secretary Hastings has been summoned by the PM. After hearing that their second attempt to move the weapons has been blocked as well, Hastings has resigned himself to let go of the plan and has begun to think about ways to shift the blame, should any of it come to light. The secretary nods at him, and he enters the PM's inner sanctum. His jovial greeting dies on his lips when he notices the other two men in the room; William Towers and that new Section Head Counter Terrorism from MI5, Lewis. The PM is seated behind his desk, looking furious and forbidding.  
"What's this about?" Hastings asks carefully.  
It is Towers that answers, his voice harsh with suppressed anger.  
"It's about you ordering the death of Sir Harry Pearce to clear the way for the provision of weapons to the Yemeni government."

- 0 -

_Next day_

The team is gathered in the meeting room, watching the news.

'_In international news, a man wanted by The Hague for crimes against humanity has been found dead in Bukavu, Eastern DRC. Faustin Kanyarengwe and three other members of the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda were found shot dead on the outskirts of the town. Authorities believe that it is the result of an internal power struggle in the rebel movement…_'

Beth smiles grimly, and meets Ruth's eye, nodding almost imperceptibly. The news reader continues.

'_And in local news, Foreign Secretary Hastings announced his resignation for family reasons this morning…_'

"The bastard'll probably have a cushy job in a private firm in no time," Alec grumbles.  
Michael shakes his head. "He'll be lucky if someone hires him as a cleaner. Both the PM and the Home Secretary has spread the word that Hastings is _persona non grata_. His future looks rather bleak, I'd say."  
"Like Oliver Mace's was supposed to be?"

All heads swivel to Ruth. She looks small and pale, with dark circles under her eyes. Her anger is almost tangible when she speaks again.  
"When Mace framed me all those years ago, Harry and Adam used the incident to run him out of town. He was supposed to have no future. Yet there he is, living lavishly in the south of Spain and running black ops for Six."  
Dimitri nods. "Men like that have a knack for resurrecting themselves. The government wants to sweep this whole thing under the rug. No ugly trials that will be impossible to keep out of the press. So he gets away with it again. The whole thing stinks."

Michael looks around the table at the mutinous expressions on his officers' faces.  
"That's the way of the world, unfortunately. What can we do?"  
Again it is Ruth that answers, her voice brittle. "What Harry would have. See that justice is done." Thinking of Kachimov, of Nicholas Blake.  
Michael stares at her. "Are you saying we should kill him?"  
"We do it to other enemies of the state. That is what Mace has become by enabling Six to run operations that are not authorised by the government."  
Looking round the table again, Michael asks, "The rest of you feel the same?" Hoping against hope that most of them will say no.  
But he is greeted with a unanimous nod of heads.

"I'll do it," Alec volunteers immediately before Beth or Dimitri can open their mouths. He figures if anyone's career has to be ruined for this it might as well be his. There is little chance of him rising any higher than he is now in any case, as he is well aware that he only has this job because of Harry.  
"I'm going with you."  
A shocked silence descends on the room and everyone focuses on Ruth. Her jaw is set stubbornly and her hands are clenched together on the table.  
Alec immediately shakes his head. "No way."  
She looks at him steadily. "Harry always did his own dirty work. I promised him I would not let his death go unanswered. I have more right than anyone else here to be there."

- 0 -

_Two days later  
Southern Spain_

When Oliver Mace reaches his secluded villa it is already dark. He unlocks the big front door and starts switching on lights. Dropping his bag in the foyer he goes through to the sitting room to pour himself a drink. He switches on the light and freezes when he sees two people seated in the wingback chairs.

Alec and Ruth watch as expressions of surprise, shock and wariness quickly cross his face. His eyes move to the gun in Alec's hand before going back to Ruth.  
"Hello Ruth," he says calmly. "I heard you'd returned from the dead."  
Her face flushes and she bites back her angry retort. Images of Harry's battered body float before her eyes and she has to fight the desire to grab the gun from Alec and empty it into this repulsive man. Her voice is deceptively calm when she finally speaks.  
"You had Harry killed. More than that, you had him tortured brutally for months, for no other reason than you didn't like him."  
Mace rolls his eyes. "Oh, how tedious. You've come to revenge your lover's death. I never understood what he saw in you. Nor you in him, for that matter."  
Before she can respond, he continues. "Harry was killed because his interference in matters that didn't concern him was getting out of hand. Do you have any idea how many times he's been the reason for CIA operations failing? Important people on both sides of the pond became fed up. If we hadn't done it, the Americans would have soon in any case."  
Alec speaks up. "We know your instruction from Six was only to kill him. The prolonged torture, however, was all your own idea. Why?"  
Mace glares. "He ruined me! With his bloody high minded ideas. I could have been a Minister by now!"  
He calms down slightly, and smiles an oily smile. "Besides, it has the ring of poetic justice to it, don't you think? Killed by the thing he fought so vociferously against, and destroyed my career for."

The three of them are frozen in their strange tableau for a few seconds, before Alec stands up and levels the gun at Mace.  
"You're a piece of work, you bloody bastard."  
Ruth stands up too. "No," she says, and takes the gun from her astonished colleague.  
Hope fills Mace's face before Ruth turns and points the gun at his heart.  
She says calmly, "_This_ is poetic justice."  
Without saying another word, she looks Oliver Mace in the eye and pulls the trigger.

- 0 -

_The funeral_

The day of Harry's funeral is, in Ruth's opinion very inappropriately, a pleasant, sunny Spring day. She sits in the pew reserved for family along with Malcolm and Catherine. Graham refused to attend, saying that in his view his father has been dead for years. Their eyes are fixed on the flag covering the casket whilst the Home Secretary delivers a simple, moving homily. A few days earlier, Towers informed Catherine and Ruth that Harry was entitled to a full military funeral for his years of service. Ruth, though, thought that Harry wouldn't want that when none of the people he'd lost through the years had been given the same honour. Towers then requested permission to at least put a flag on the coffin, and she agreed. It is the least that Harry deserves, Ruth thinks again.  
She feels Malcolm move next to her and realises that Towers has finished, and that it's Malcolm's turn to do a reading.

When he reaches the pulpit, Malcolm swallows and takes a deep breath, before he begins to read in a clear, steady voice.  
"_O Captain! My Captain!_ By Walt Whitman."  
By the time he reaches the last lines, there isn't a dry eye in the church.

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!  
But I, with mournful tread,  
Walk the deck my Captain lies,  
Fallen cold and dead.

As the bell tolls mournfully at the end of the service, four soldiers carefully fold the flag before presenting it to Catherine. She hesitates, then shakes her head and points towards Ruth. Caught totally by surprise, Ruth numbly accepts it, before following the casket out of the church. When Catherine falls into step next to her, Ruth says softly, "You should take it. You're his daughter. Harry and I… We weren't even married."  
Catherine takes her arm. "I know. But when I spent Christmas with you two, I saw how much he loved you. You may not have the paperwork, but in Dad's heart you were married. Besides, you've been standing on the wall alongside him all these years. It should be yours."  
Ruth traces the ring she's been wearing ever since Beth gave it to her softly with her thumb, and smiles sadly at Catherine.

When it's all done and everyone begins to move toward their cars, she finds Michael and hands him an envelope.  
"My resignation," she says.  
He regards the envelope in his hand with a resigned smile. "I can't say I wasn't expecting this."  
Lifting his eyes to hers, he asks, "I don't suppose there's anything I can say that will change your mind?"  
Ruth looks away, back towards the fresh grave they've just left. "I don't want to do it without him, Michael. It breaks my heart to see someone else in his office. I'm sorry, it's not personal."  
"I understand," he reassures her quickly, then laughs slightly. "Bloody hell, Ruth. I don't know if I can do this without you to keep me on the right path."  
For the first time since his arrival on the Grid, she gives him a genuine smile. "Yes, you can. You've proven over the last month that you're worthy of stepping into Harry's shoes, and that no-one is irreplaceable. You'll find another analyst."  
He looks at her for the longest time. "What will you do now?"  
She swallows. "Take time to grieve. Live a calm, normal life." Harry's final plea drifts through her mind, and she adds, "_Live_."  
When her eyes fill with tears, he understands. "In a couple of months, when you've settled, will you give me a call? I have an idea that you may be interested in."  
She nods. "I will. Goodbye, Michael."  
He watches her as she walks away between the graves until she disappears from view.

- 0 -

_**Six months later**_

Beth pokes her head round Michael's door. "I'm off to debrief my assets."  
He looks up with a smile. "Right then. Say hello for me."

She parks in front of the Internet Café next to the rare book shop. It is situated close to London University, and the book shop has quickly become a favourite among the students, especially those interested in Arabic history and literature. A bell jingles as she opens the door and the young girl behind the counter looks up.  
"The Boss is out back," she informs Beth cheerfully.  
When she opens the door to the small backyard she is assaulted by a boisterous Jack Russell puppy, while Scarlet follows behind at a more sedate pace. Ruth rescues her from the two dogs and she follows her over to where Malcolm is sitting at a table having tea. Beth flops into the third chair and gratefully accepts the proffered tea.

"Do you have anything interesting for me?" Beth asks.  
Ruth reaches for a folder lying on the table. "One possible. Matt Sloane. As you can see from the list of books he's requested, he's interested in the more radical aspects of Arabic history."  
Malcolm takes over. "From the emails he's sent from the Internet Café, he apparently has a penpal in Pakistan, but Ruth and I think it may be more than that. The emails seem to be in some kind of code."  
He hands over a sheaf of papers. "Something for the boffins to work on."  
Beth nods. "Okay, thanks. We'll look into it." She puts the information away carefully before relaxing in her chair.  
"So how are you guys?"

The business part of their meeting over, they turn to normal talk. Beth tells them about the latest developments on the Grid, and they reciprocate with small talk about running the book shop and the Internet Café respectively.

Ruth sits back and contemplates the turn her life has taken since Harry's death. After travelling for a month, she came back to London and their house, and realised that she didn't want to leave and start anew somewhere else. She wants to be here, where she and Harry shared so much, and retain her connection with him. So she had called Michael, and he explained his plan to open the book shop and Internet Café close to the university, in an effort to identify radical elements in the student community. He suggested that she and Malcolm would be perfect to run it.

She still has days where she can barely get out of bed because she misses him so much, but she is slowly healing. The book shop has been a Godsend, as it allows her to still make a contribution to the defence of the nation but at the same time have a more quiet life. Malcolm's friendship has been steadfast and supportive, and they have helped each other to cope with Harry's death. They talk about him often, and it helps to dampen the pain of his absence.

She is doing her utmost to keep her promise to him, by living as best she can. She's not sure she will ever be able to love another man, but who knows, perhaps in time. In the meantime, she is doing her bit to continue the work he gave his life for. And she is remembering him well, like he asked.

It is enough for now.

_Fin_


End file.
